Becoming a Cavanaugh
Page 13
He’d surprised her again. Just when she thought she had him pegged. “Okay,” she agreed, although she had her doubts that she would be able to unwind. She felt like a cherry bomb about to go off.
“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” Kyle commented as they walked to her door.
“I can get by,” she said modestly. “My best friend in elementary school was Mexican. I liked hanging around her house after school.” She smiled as a few memories came back to her. Jaren put her key in the lock and opened her door. “Her mother made the greatest meals.”
“What about your mother?” He waited for her to enter, then followed her inside.
Jaren turned on the light switch beside the door. The light came on in her kitchen. Sprawled out on the kitchen floor, the puppy raised her head to see who was intruding into her home. Recognizing them, the Labrador came bounding over, greeting both as if they’d all been separated for months rather than hours.
“My mother tended toward getting takeout and frozen dinners,” Jaren remembered. She picked up the puppy and gave her a hug.
“I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” Kyle speculated.
“The apple had better things to do than to experiment in the kitchen,” she informed him. Between taking care of her father, keeping house for him and going to school, she had little time to be a teenager, much less a chef with a learning curve. “One day when I was twelve, my mother decided she could do better.” She tried to sound flippant, but even so, the memory hurt. “I came home from school and found a note from her on the kitchen table, telling me she was sorry but she was dying by inches living her life. She asked me to take care of my father, saying I’d probably do a better job than she did.”
He waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, he asked, “And that was it?”
The note was the last communication she had with her mother. “That was it.”
He found himself feeling sorry for the child she had been. That was a hell of a burden to place on a twelve-year-old’s shoulders. “What did your father do when he found out?”
She did what she could to distance herself from the memory. As much as she loved her father, she was keenly aware of his shortcomings.
“Went out and bought another bottle of vodka.” There was a bittersweet smile on her lips. Thoughts of her father always evoked a feeling of affection and protectiveness, mingled with guilt because she was so disappointed that he didn’t try harder to get away from his demons. The demons that eventually took him away from her. “That was pretty much my father’s solution to everything. Vodka. Black Russians were his favorite.” And then, because she knew how that sounded, she quickly added, “He really tried to be a good father, but he just wasn’t strong enough.”
Her words came back to her. Jaren looked at Kyle, just a bit stunned. “How did we wind up talking about my father?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He watched her for a long moment. “You were right.”
The compliment came out of nowhere. In order to savor it, she needed to know its origins. “About?”
“About coming with me to break the news to Mrs. Sanchez. I wouldn’t have been able to handle her without you. Thanks,” he concluded.
“Can’t cook but knows how to comfort people on the receiving end of bad news,” she declared, lowering her voice to sound as if she was narrating her good points. And then she smiled. “We all have our skills.”
Again, he looked at her for a long moment, but this time, he caught himself experiencing the same pull he had before the awful call about Sanchez’s murder had come through.
What was there about this woman that pulled him in like that? That tangled up his ordinarily straight thought process?
“Some,” he said, combing his fingers through her hair, “have more than others.”
Jaren felt her heart race again. Even harder than the first time. The same wave of warmth overtook her. But this time, she didn’t even bother trying to avoid it. This time, she wanted to race to it. She needed the contact. Needed to feel human again.
This wasn’t about forming an attachment or nurturing a relationship, she told herself. It was just teeth-jarring, unrelenting physical attraction. She didn’t want to think for a space of time. More than anything, she just wanted to wipe away the image of Sanchez in the alley. Wanted to wipe out the sound of Mrs. Sanchez’s sobs that still rang in her ears.
She took the plunge. Someone had to go first and she couldn’t count on him. He was probably more grounded.
“Make love with me, O’Brien,” she whispered as she laced her arms around his neck. “Nobody has to know. Just make me stop thinking.”
Kyle knew he should disengage himself from her. Knew that he should say something about being her superior on this case and that they had a professional relationship to maintain. They were coworkers and these kinds of things—even if it was only a onetime thing—rarely worked out. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship, and a one-night stand with a fellow detective just wasn’t a good idea.
But for the life of him, he couldn’t voice a single protest, couldn’t put a single thought into words. He was only aware of the overwhelming desire pulsing within him.
He wanted her.
Wanted to make love with her until they were both mindless and cleansed.
Kyle struggled to verbalize a protest for both their own good, but he lost the battle before it ever began.
Jaren sealed her lips to his and suddenly, there was nothing else but her and the passion roaring through his veins like a runaway freight train.
The moment her lips touched his, Kyle found himself lost in a sea of passion. Passion of a magnitude that took his breath away. Never would he have even entertained the thought that he was capable of feeling something like this.
He gave himself up to it.
Clothes went flying as they stumbled from the kitchen to the living room, desperate for the feel of skin, for the hot sizzle of flesh on flesh.
Maybe her bedroom was the ultimate goal, but if so, they didn’t get there in time.
Their bodies were naked before they were halfway there.
Over and over Kyle brought his mouth to hers as his hands familiarized themselves with all the inviting contours of her supple, firm body. He could feel himself reacting to the way she raked her hands over him. Everything within Kyle hummed with anticipation.
He wouldn’t have been able to say who wanted this more, if he did or if it was she. In the end, he supposed it turned out to be a draw.
They both won.
Sinking to the floor, they were oblivious to the yipping of the puppy that kept excitedly circling them. The Labrador undoubtedly thought this was some sort of new game.
But if this was a game, it carried incredibly high stakes. His very soul depended on this, on losing himself within the sweet fire that she had created within his veins. Capturing both her wrists in his hand, Kyle raised them above her head as he pleasured her, pleasured himself savaging her mouth.
When he could feel her heart hammering against his, he allowed his mouth to roam, to take a swift detour along her throat, her breasts, her quivering abdomen. And with each pass of his lips, his teeth, his tongue, he could feel Jaren twisting and turning beneath him, eagerly absorbing every nuance, every second of sweet agony he created for her.
Her very movement against his body both fed the hunger and made it more intense within him.
Breaking free of his hold, Jaren grabbed hold of his shoulders and urgently tugged on them, finally succeeding in pulling him back up to her until they were face-to-face with one another.
He saw his destiny in her eyes. It would have scared the hell out of him had he been thinking clearly.
But he wasn’t.
He was feeling and that made for a world of difference.
An urgency drummed through every fiber of his being as he drove himself into her. Filling her and nullifying a void within himself.
At least for the moment.
Kyle tightened his arms around her, as if to hold the feeling close for just a second longer. But even so, it was vanishing.
Moving off Jaren, he rolled onto his back, one arm tucked beneath his head. He was surprised to discover that his other arm was curved around her.
What the hell did that mean?
He was too drained to try to figure it out. Too drained even to reclaim his arm. He let it remain until his breathing became regular again.
With effort, he recalled her last words to him. “Well, did it make you stop thinking?” he asked her in a low, hoarse whisper.
Jaren didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer. Her breathing was completely erratic. If she spoke right now, she’d squeak.
God, what had happened here? She knew she’d been the one to start this, to actually ask for it, but she certainly hadn’t expected this degree of passion, this degree of anything to erupt within her. Granted, she hadn’t been with many men, but nothing like this had ever happened to her before.
Pressing her lips together, Jaren took a breath, desperate to make light of a situation that was anything but light. She instinctively knew, without being told, that to do anything else—to attach any importance to what had just happened, to even allude to the possibility that this was the start of something rather than solely a onetime thing—would scare the hell out of Kyle.
It certainly did out of her.
She took another breath, hoping her voice wouldn’t crack. “I can’t even remember my name, rank and serial number,” she quipped.
“Funny,” he told her, turning his head slightly to look at her, “I can.”
He felt her breasts brush against him as she turned her body to his. Her expression was serious. “I meant what I said.”
His mind was a complete blank. Not a usual state for him. What was it that she had said? Had he even heard her? “About?”
“About no one needing to know about what happened here. I just—” She stumbled, searching for the right words. “—just wanted to forget.”
“Hypnosis would have been less exhausting,” he told her so matter-of-factly, for a moment, Jaren thought he was serious. And then she saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Why that ushered in relief was something she wasn’t able to explain.
“You have a sense of humor.” Now there was something she wouldn’t have accused him of harboring.
He laughed shortly. There was a time, he recalled, when he was quick to laugh. Before he discovered that life wasn’t funny, it was a challenge. “Don’t let it get around.”
She smiled, running her fingers along the outline of his biceps. He was doing it again, she thought, reaching out to something inside of her. She wondered if he knew. Probably not. If he knew, he’d stop. He struck her as a man who didn’t like complications.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” she promised. To bring the point home, she crossed her heart with her finger.
Moving her hand, he pressed a kiss to her breast. “As long as we’re keeping secrets,” he said softly, turning his body toward hers.
She could feel the fire starting again. Could feel the desire taking hold again. Suddenly, she wanted to lose herself in him just one more time.
“Yes?”
He didn’t answer her. At least, not verbally. Instead, he began to make love with her again. Except far more languidly this time.
He was certain that he had missed areas the first time around because they had gone at it with such a furor. But a woman like Jaren deserved to be made love with slowly, underscoring every movement. And he had no idea what possessed him, but he fully intended to be the one who did it.
Chapter 13
Jaren woke up several minutes before her alarm, the smell of coffee teasing its way into her consciousness.
More specifically, the smell of coffee, bacon and toast.
Staring at the ceiling, her mind trying to focus, Jaren thought she was dreaming. And then she remembered Kyle and last night and was certain that she was still asleep.
But the aroma persisted, so she finally sat up. And realized that she was naked. She slapped down the buzzer as it began to ring. Maybe last night hadn’t been a dream after all.
Getting up, Jaren quickly threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, then went to the kitchen to investigate the source of the aroma.
She found Kyle standing by the stove with his namesake sitting up at his feet. The latter was leaving drool marks on the floor, hoping for a taste of what smelled so temptingly good.
Kyle glanced over his shoulder. “You’re up.”
Her mouth curved. Now here was a sight she never imagined in her kitchen. “You do magic.”
Kyle tried to place her comment in context. “If you’re referring to last night, you were pretty inspiring yourself.”
She felt a blush rushing over her fair skin, turning it a soft shade of warm. “I meant breakfast. You’re cooking.”
He looked back at the frying pan on the stove. “Oh, yeah.”
Her head still jumbled, she tried to make her statement understood. “All I had in the refrigerator was wine and orange juice. You make eggs, toast and bacon appear?”
He laughed, finally understanding her confusion. She probably thought if he was going to go out for breakfast, he would return with a paper bag with a fast-food logo embossed on its side. “I went to the grocery store. You sleep pretty soundly.”
“I had one hell of a workout last night.”
There was a hint of a smile on his lips as Kyle peered at her over his shoulder again. “Yeah, come to think of it, me, too.”
For a second, the only sound in the room was the sizzle of the bacon. Jaren tightened her lips. “Is this going to be the awkward part?”
Silence had never bothered him. At times, it was a welcomed companion, a place to seek shelter. “Not unless you want it to be.”
Hunger got the better of her. She could see why the Labrador was drooling. “What I want is to sample what you’ve just made.”
Kyle turned off the heat and moved both frying pans to cool burners. “That’s what it’s here for,” he told her.
Two empty plates sat on the counter and he divided the contents of both frying pans. A second later, toast joined each serving.
Jaren carried the plates to the table while he brought up the rear, a cup of coffee in each hand. Without realizing it, he watched the soft sway of her hips as she walked, appreciation filtering through him.
She didn’t wait for him, but started eating as he took his seat opposite her. “This is good,” Jaren pronounced with feeling.
He shrugged off her compliment. “Kind of hard to spoil scrambled eggs.” Breaking off a piece of bacon, Kyle held it out to the eager puppy. It disappeared in a heartbeat. She licked his fingers several times over to get every last bit of flavor off them.
“Not so hard, trust me,” she countered, and then smiled. “It seems that you’ve got more than one hidden talent.”
He raised his eyes to hers and smiled himself, not saying anything. Some things were better left without a comment.
Not wanting to let on that last night had shaken up his world as much as it had, Kyle moved the conversation toward the case while they ate. He was now convinced that they were dealing with a psychopath and that the vampire angle was the one to follow.
“After all,” he said, draining his coffee cup, “Son of Sam swore he was getting his instructions from his dog. There’s no reason to doubt that our killer went off the deep end and now thinks he’s getting his orders from some higher power telling him to kill vampires.”
She wasn’t so sure she went along with the second half of his theory. “And that higher power is identifying the vampires for him?”
He fed a little of his toast to the dog. Jaren pretended not to notice, but the fact that he did warmed her
heart even more. “Sounds good to me,” Kyle said.
“By higher power, you mean the voices he might be hearing in his head?”
After he finished eatomg, he wiped his mouth with the napkin. “That’s what I mean.”
She followed his line of reasoning. “So, you think it’s just random.”
Kyle nodded. “Easier that way. And,” he reminded her, “they did have the book in common.”
“They had more than that in common,” she countered. “They had the killer. There has to be some kind of connection between the neurosurgeon and the CEO that were killed.” She hurried to explain her reasoning. “The killer had to physically see those books in their offices. He didn’t plant them like a calling card. They were what set him off.” She’d bet a year’s salary on it. “Which consequently means he knew the men. He knew them well enough to get admitted into their offices.”
“And Sanchez?” Kyle asked. “How do you factor in his murder?”
The mention of the detective vividly brought back his mother’s anguish. Jaren did what she could to shut it out. Remembering would do no one any good right now. “The killer must have interacted with Sanchez.”
Kyle followed her reasoning to its logical conclusion. “Which means that, technically, we’ve met the killer. Or at least Sanchez did. He’s got to be one of the people who was interviewed.”
“That’s what I think.” Finishing her breakfast, she retired her fork and took one last sip of her coffee. “What about the Count?”
That was the least complicated of the murders. “Wrong place at the wrong time,” Kyle guessed. “Maybe the Count just crossed the killer’s path. Or maybe the killer knew him, too. Hard to say but you’re right, the murders weren’t done at random.”
“Nice to be in agreement,” she commented. Rising, Jaren brought both plates over to the sink. “You’re the guest so you can have the shower first.”
He placed the two coffee cups next to the stacked dishes in the sink. “There’s a drought on,” he reminded her.
Nothing new there, she thought. California had been tottering on the brink of a drought for years now. The governor had just made it official. Turning around to look at Kyle, she wasn’t sure just where he was going with this.